


Consequence

by Sawadoot



Series: Rebirth [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, atem tries really hard to remember things, nakey atem ooo, no one dares eat the snake friends, unless they want to die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sawadoot/pseuds/Sawadoot
Summary: He promised not to forsake their generous gift. After all, Atem had desperately numbered the stars for this.(facing a high probability of deletion)





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 1/10/17

 

 

Perhaps it all fell into place that very day, he knows not the date.

Sunlight stings his eyes, burned a deep violet and dancing red. And Atem squints at it. It only takes a brief moment for his heart to soar. Rising from this river shrouded with vegetation. Sheltered from the relentless sun by a thin forest of trees.

Tanned skin, as he remembers from the times of great pharaohs, his native skin. It was once flawlessly white and he can’t help but wonder if there will be a difference in such.

And the cuffs on his wrists are cold. Comforting from the water he stands in. And Atem smiles.

Though something is bothersome. A name in which he himself must remember, with only obscured bits of a face. Such as a puzzle.

“Unnecessary.” He breathes.

Garments, not the soaked linen he wears, are the first order of business. After all, one cannot explore practically bare. As it is they cling to his clammy skin, outlining every curve and edge of his newly obtained body.

Reaching down hastily he wipes with his damp hand at drops of water that dribble down his thigh, frowning.

Slithering guests are quick to present something suitable, taken from nearby. A particular guest winds itself around Atem’s arm. They are companions from the Gods.

Something strikes a memory. He used to wear modern clothes such as these. Cotton, denim, all kinds that rivaled the very linen he wears now. Hastily the article he receives is exchanged. A robe of sorts, made from a deep burgundy cotton, all he has but he is grateful. Each cobra thanked, though he has yet to learn individually them all.

He knows there is something he must do. Although he doesn’t remember what exactly, it nags, festering in the back of his mind.

The only way to know for sure would be to explore his surroundings. After all, he’s been in the modern world before, he knows. Maybe it would trigger a memory.

Shaking hands brush against something smooth, sharp. An uncanny significance to his entire existence is what he suddenly believes. Glancing down he draws in a sharp intake. The puzzle is around his neck, on a silver chain. The one he suffered inside for so long without a hint of light.

He turns the puzzle gently in his hands, balancing it from palm to palm in an eager effort to understand. A symbol the gods placed on him, Atem reasons, letting the puzzle fall back to swing ‘round his neck. It gleams almost eerily in the soft light filtered by the trees.

Eyes follow the quiver, slithering towards what seems to be an opening in his brightly cast haven. With uneven steps, Atem advances after in order to follow where they left. They are to be his guides as well.

Each step becomes stronger, and he steadily walks with more of a stride rather than with the legs of a newborn baby deer. Wincing as bare feet step over the loose pebbles of the sandy ground, only soothed by scattered patches of grass.

It’s warm, he notes. A Pleasant contrast to the cold of the puzzle and yet almost unbearable, making his stomach churn. Atem shades his eyes from the midday sun in order for them to train on the path that quiver took.

To his surprise, they stare back as if waiting for him to catch up to their sides. A little faster pace the pharaoh walks.

 

It isn’t long before they’ve entered a city. Small compared to the ones of his past but unaccustomed to the modern era of it. Music plays in one of the nearby stands, a tune he’s never heard before.

Cobras slither at his side now.

He pays no mind to much, with the exception of dodging around others to continue his path. Though upon sight of the slithering quiver many were more than glad to jump out of the way, sometimes eliciting a shout of surprise or two.

Atem’s leg stings, a slow trickle of blood pooling from the gash set upon his ankle. He had nicked it from a protruding rock on accident. He grits his teeth painfully.

A yowl.

Atem stiffly freezes in his tracks, it sounds painful. Did it sound….. alone?

He doesn’t understand or rather knows he cannot perceive any of these emotions that bubble up so suddenly. Is this what one refers to as loneliness, and if so why this very instant. Desperation fills the emptiness that was always his only companion, until now.

Unconsciously he moves towards whatever it might be that cries out fainter with each moment.

Situated between the walls of two empty crates lays a feline the color of ink, it moans softly with each breath taken. Eyes lolling with almost great effort over to Atem. He can see his reflection in the glaze over green that stare back.

 

A cautious hand reaches out, and it hisses, attempting weakly to swipe at the exposed limb. Daring him to come any closer.

He dares.

First allowing it to smell the scent of earth that resonates from his hand, stroking the top of its head as a sign of comfort. By some astonishment, the cat calms down enough for him to pick it up. Light as a feather, he wonders if it will die soon.

And hopes otherwise.

 

As he cradles this unfortunate creature in his arms, Atem takes a moment to look around. Aware for the first time of his surroundings in the bustling marketplace.

A familiar air is about the place and he wonders why. Perhaps it merely reminds him of his own home, the one from long ago.

Atem feels watchful eyes, unable to help but to turn at the unmistakable feeling of being gazed upon. What he meets is the fixed look of lavender. It’s not unpleasant.

Only somewhat nostalgic. Why?

He breaks away from their stare, unaware of the other tugging on the shirt of their companion. Something unsettling fluttering in his chest. What an odd boy.

“Rishid I-”

Said boy gestures upon the fixed attention of his companion. His eyes turning to meet the direction of his outstretched hand. “What?”

It’s bare.

“Marik?” Rishid’s voice is laced with minor confusion.

Marik can only stare at the empty street corner. He could’ve sworn he’d seen something remarkable. This might be a good thing to bring up to his sister.

“Sorry. It was a trick of the mind.”


	2. II

 

There are many actions he lacks to understand. Residing in the land of the living is far different than he remembers, though most blur together in blotches of color. Blurry faces and violet eyes with no name. Voices with no particular identity.

_“After everything you’re still going to leave?”_

Atem can only conjure the feeling perhaps it’s more of a grieved line. Said by whom and why he feels he might never remember.

But taking comfort in the familiarity of the narrow winding streets much like his dear own, the bustle of a vast array that gathers in the markets, alongside buildings and stores are something very precious to him. They bring a washed over peace to quick beats of his heart.

Who had this heart beat for in previous use?

Best not to think of such things, that would mean revoking his blessed miracle. Unconsciously he cradles the stray in his arms closer, it hisses.  Loosening his grip Atem softly chides, petting surprisingly soft fur.  “You should at least allow me to care for you, this once.”

For reasons he doesn’t quite know why it settles down. Pushing it’s head into the crook of his arm.

He picks through the jagged shards of broken pottery lying warm on the cobblestone ground. Stepping precisely to avoid peril his bare feet could hardly afford. Atem glances quietly down at the gash, a crust of dried blood capping it off from the warm sun, and frowns.

He’d forgotten how it felt to bleed.

He jolts in an all too quick stop to avoid a rather blunt piece. Angered by the sudden jerking the stray hisses, swiping Atem’s face with the dull sheen of its tail before a particularly nasty set of claws follow the suit, nicking his chin.

Grip loosens in surprise and off it goes, bounding out the alley, yowling loudly in protest. Being worried for its well-being, however, to follow is attempted.

Only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Freezing in response.

It shifts, uncertain. A searching hand wanders from shoulder to sleeve. Atem remains ever still, fearful and yet hopeful that this might mean another clue of his blessed gift.

“You’re familiar.”

Their voice is as rich as the ones in his dreams of past memories. The blurred voices and images, though it's deeper. Unmistakably this is one of them. And forgetting hesitancy, he turns quickly. Wanting to face one of the stars he’d numbered.

Desperately craving assurance it was never all a silly dream.

The same lavender eyes from earlier greet him. Only startled. Before settling with a soft nostalgia. And Atem stares back, unsure what to say. Only that this person was familiar too. Whoever he was.

“Who are you?” He speaks in a foreign tongue he remembers once using, tinged with the sharpness of his old accent. Remaining pieces of his lost dialect from ancient times when he ruled as pharaoh.

He remembers that much.

“Marik.”

A name so similar.

“Marik Ishtar. I take it you…….”

He quirks a brow at the lack of continuation. Pulls the robe up higher in hopes it will stay rather than slipping due to the weight of Marik’s hand, closed tightly around deeply colored fabric.

“..I?”

He makes Atem feel small still, towering over him in such a way. Instinctively he draws back while Marik grips tighter to his sleeve in an attempt to halt him from such.

“You’re him.”

And Atem, having just been birthed into a new world practically on his own, in the body of a stranger and witnessing the most foreign of things on his own with no companions to speak of, rightly feels frustrating by the lack of directness.

“Who?”

Marik seems frustrated as well.

“You’re Atem.”

He wrenches his arm back so frighteningly fast that it happens to be accompanied by a tearing sound. It's almost slow realization.

Marik, half his entire sleeve in hand. What was left of it? Lying in a pool at his scraped feet is the rest of that burgundy robe. And cries out in embarrassment at the fact he now wears nothing save the jewelry on his body.

“Perhaps…. I should explain after you’ve… changed.” Marik is just as embarrassed it would seem.

* * *

  


“I don’t know them,” He pauses for contemplation. “I hardly remember faces, names, events.”

Ishizu sits across from him, arms crossed loosely as if also lost in thought. Atem sitting atop the hand-carved wooden stool that elevates him to the Ishtar family counter, picture frame in hand. Tracing the ornamental flowers on the edge of the frame, he furrows his brows together in an attempt to regain a memory or two.

He knows of course why he can’t remember. He fed the ghosted memories to the Gods in exchange for the body he now resides in.

“I suppose,” She speaks slowly as if attempting to follow her own thought process. “It would make sense. Implying it would have to do with how you’re here now, certainly existent.”

Atem touches a strand of his own hair, comparing it to the boy in the picture. Marveling at its similarity.

He looks soft; pleasant. Gathered by several more smiling faces.

He can only nod, half listening over the awe of this discovery. He’s never seen someone who looks almost as he does. It contains oddity and fascination all inside one neat package.

“Ishizu.”

He has her attention almost immediately.

“Who is this?”

Leaning over the counter to better view the frame Atem holds out; index finger placed carefully on that one boy with such resemblance. Her mouth quirks into the most curious grin.

“That boy?”

Atem nods almost eagerly.

“Why that’s Yugi.” Something rattles inside his head at this. A promise? Had words spoken? Pain is dull. “He was your _partner_. When you played games together.”

It hurts. He feels a rush of sickness. Quickly placing the frame on the green countertop before excusing himself to sit in the restroom until the wave of nausea was to clear up.

“Marik.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice. Marik picks up the phone, dialing rapidly. “He’ll never believe this, sis.”

* * *

 

 

_Wanting to leave, ‘tis worse than death’s kiss you know._

Someone once said so. A god? A human? It was but a passing thought, Atem reasons so, laying on his side in a bath filled with warm water and even bubbles. Rishid had to remind him what they were called as of going around calling them “water orbs” was too odd.

_Safe._

But was it?

He finds himself challenging every thought that was to enter his mind's eye. Does he trust himself to be able to live as the Gods had intended of him?

His skin smells of leftover incense and clean soap.

There are so many things he doesn’t know nor remembers. Though only the ghosted memories were gone would he still be able to dig up leftover roots?

Atem thirsts to know.

_“Congratulations! Well done. ----, a champion doesn’t belong on his knees. You achieved a great victory for us both!”_

He draws his legs close as he possibly can towards his chest. Perhaps there was a clue?

Somewhere in this city lays a clue, waiting for him to just find it he’s so sure of this. A clue that would lead to lost memories; the secrets of his heart.

_“You realize we’ll never truly be apart, right?”_

The pain inside him is throbbing.

_“The gift of kindness you’ve given me and the courage I’ve given you will remain with us, and that will forever bind us together.”_

_“Right.”_

 

“Right.” He whispers, sinking into the water, now too hot.

A sob escapes.

“Right…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not what I do my dudes. Please tell me if my characterization is off?? I haven't been able to make a full analysis.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Contains vague implications of eating disorder in the last line break

_ _

 

_ Even though you’re dead, the world is still aging on without you _

He hadn’t meant to pull Rishid so roughly. It was the general imbalance of becoming adjusted to his own strength whereas inside the puzzle it would be impossible to even move the darkness. The darkness he was accustomed to.

Hence the second reason, alone. Having been alone for so long the fact of a very presence startled him to the point where when Rishid gently touched his shoulder to wake him for what he now presumed was the afternoon meal, judging by the height of the sun. Atem had gripped his arm, all but throwing him to the ground in fear.

The steel in his eyes, however, melted away upon realization who it was. Someone with connected history. He was safe.

And so, in only shorts he throws himself to Rishid’s side, fervently crying apologies. Tears in his eyes as he attempts to explain he hadn’t meant what he had done.

Cries turn into sobs he hadn’t realized were inside his chest, forcing themselves down his cheeks in a constant flow of fear.

He hadn’t realized.

He’s scared.

Scared, scared so scared to be here. That he’s living; breathing. That his hands can touch the same sunlight that shines on the puzzle by his bed, the item he was trapped inside for so long.

Atem fears the puzzle and hurt.

Which is worse he wonders with a strangled sob, attempting to pick up the fallen picture in scarred hands. A dry heave accompanying the action. Almost impossible to see through a layer of tears.

Another hand stops him;

Rishid’s.

“I forgive you.”

Atem’s wails fill the room, echoing off the walls as he flings himself in the other’s arms, burying his face into the maroon fabric. He feels Rishid quietly rubbing comforting circles on his back, smells fresh lavender.

“I’m so sorry.”

The matter was not spoken of at their midday meal, as Ishizu made sure he ate more than three bites. But he knows by their eyes. 

Perhaps it's pity. Regardless, they were a connection. Atem thinks, slowly chewing a piece of lettuce.

But they’re hiding something. His eyes shift to Marik, who looks oddly elated over something. Bites down a little harder.

Payment. He frowns. He has no money, and although the jewelry he wears is somewhat of value it is from the Gods and cannot be parted with. Neither can the puzzle so it would seem.

He wonders if they accept physical labor. And if so, would they allow him to do so?

“What must I do?” This startles Rishid, his fork clattering to the floor.

“Do?” Marik glanced perplexed from Atem to Rishid who has risen for a clean fork.

“To repay you.” He clarifies, taking in their shocked expressions. Marik’s is the first to turn from surprise to a grimace.

“Consider repayment from us instead. I don’t like this… owing business.”

“Repayment? For what?”

“You’ll remember someday.”

At that Atem scowls. Someday is not soon enough. Someday has no affirmative answers. The single loose promise of someday explains absolutely nothing.

“Teach me how to wash the dishes then.” Menial household tasks would do. Jaw clenched he waits for the no that is to be expected. But with a grim set, it’s obvious to the other three he’s willing to argue over the matter for days.

Ishizu is the first to relent, surprisingly. “All right.”

Only brief agreement nods from the other two.

Atem once again relaxes, sitting back again.  _ Let me do this much _ , he thinks.

* * *

 

This much indeed. The concept of minimal soap sailed past poor Atem’s head. And accidental over-pour left the sink and his hair a bubbly mess. Much to Rishid’s amusement. 

He can’t help but laugh at the sight of it. However, the dishes were a guaranteed clean that was for certain.

“They look good.” Atem beams up at him, like a child receiving praise. Despite being thousands of years old some things could never change.

Rishid finds himself smiling outwardly, and they both stand there simply grinning like fools for a few minutes.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs then.” The moment is broken by Atem dashing for the bathroom. Discomfort clear on his face and Rishid can’t help but wonder.

About the limitations of a previously used body.

Clearly, something is either not right or rather, complicated. A matter to address later.

“He used half the bottle.”

* * *

 

He heaves loudly, hoping not to be heard through his disgusting noises he makes. Perhaps if he weren’t to number the memories like stars.

Atem feels he’s lacking so much. Perhaps even a vital piece of himself. It physically hurts and he wonders if he were to shatter as the porcelain plate he’d once seen hit the wooden floorboards.

Perhaps the contemporary happiness he had felt;

wasn’t for him.

At that, he punches his chest with another gag. Tears dribbling from his eyes. What was missing? What was it that kept him in a darkness only he can see?

Atem lets out a strangled heave.

At the very least could he not eat? A cold sweat settling to the soft skin of his neck, he reaches one shaking hand behind to cup it gently.

“Please,”

His murmurs are lost to the empty walls.

“I just want-”

What did he want? What was the reason for return? He could have chosen the afterlife and yet the glowing white memories he so fervently counted were used to obtain this?

“I didn’t ask for…”

_ Ah, but you did. _

He looks at his bloody fist through a blurred vision. He sighs, leaning over the toilet once again.

_ Was it worth it? _

Atem doesn’t know for sure.

Settling cheek to the cool tile, he watches the world slowly spin around him. Clock ticking away the precious minutes with a deafening noise.

A buzzing from where?

Was it beside him? Is it all around or maybe-

The door bursts open.

He manages to make out blonde. “What a peculiar color,” Is all he can mutter before his body wracks in coughs.

Are things going to be different now?

_ It only depends on how you play the game. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I don't know why I do this


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers only missing pieces

 

Weaving hands of golden destiny had always been that of a haunting nightmare, where he sees the gold fade to bronze and bronze to tin. Where it loses its shine, fading into a dullness that is perhaps what he is now.

_ You’re already dead. _

Gold, gold? He’d seen it. The color of gold before he closed his eyes. What was it? What was the gold that plagued him?

To Atem, it is comforting and accusing. A sense of dread hangs over the darkness he sees through heavy lids and though he can’t lift them he hear them now. Whispers, and voices. Gradually becoming louder.

The Gods send a tear to loosen his eyes so that he may see the tiniest bit. Blurred shapes that stand before him in a dark; incomprehensible mass. They close again.

His fingers twitch in an attempt to move, they’re so heavy, perhaps so if he could remember what he was doing for a moment.

Atem panics. What if he’s back inside the puzzle, alone? Trapped, trapped, no one to hear him.

His mouth opens to scream but no sound comes out, fear spreading up his spine to the entire body making him flail. The softness that can only be blankets touches his feet and he immediately turns slack with relief.

He’s still here.

But if so, why the bed? Painfully he attempts to crack one eye open with little success. And a second time with yet another failed but closer attempt.

Finally on the fifth time, as counted, his eyes were open. Painfully adjusting to the sudden brightness which he can only assume is the morning sun.

No one is there.

“I must be going mad.” He says, voice cracked; hoarse.

Hands flew to his neck. But where is his fine jewelry, the ones he was bidden to keep?

Almost blindly he feels around the pallet he knows is his. They ought to be somewhere in this very room he wonders, aware he only wears a rather large pair of shorts however that not being an issue currently.

Atem is close to devastation, though he knows not how much time has passed since first waking and now, it is apparent he cannot find his precious items nor the puzzle nor any trace that anyone else is in the house.

He decides to cover up in the hoodie Marik lent him rather than go down, chest bared to those around. Without his  Wesekh he often wears Atem feels barer than usual.

Opting to be careful rather than risk becoming lightheaded he takes cautious steps towards the kitchen where he knows at the very least Rishid often is.

More than Rishid is there. Apart from the other two siblings, four other strangers are gathered around the table. He marvels at the diversity of their hairstyles and wonders why they had come.

Were they friends of theirs?

And suddenly he is unbearably hungry. He hopes it will subside if he is to eat something that requires little to no effort, it would seem what his body wanted it wouldn’t accept.

This had become rather bothersome, having a debt to repay after all.

“We’re in here.” He hears Ishizu calling just when debating whether to go in or not. And all eyes turn to the doorway he stands in.

Atem feels his cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment. After all what he hadn’t wanted was to draw attention to himself and yet-

He doesn’t expect someone to come running towards him fast as they can, enveloping him into the tightest hug manageable, Atem feeling as if his insides might spill onto the floor, stepping back dizzily upon being released.

His sight spins.

“Who?” The only word he can wheeze out. Unable to breathe for a hot second.

“Wait you’re serious? You can’t remember me?” To the stranger’s question, he nods his head almost robotically. How many people had he known before the puzzle?

“It’s me. Y’know, Hiroto?” Peculiarly his hair is that of either a spike or some sort of spoke in which he’s seen for bikes in town.

“I’m sorry….. I traded my memories… I don’t remember anyone..”

Aforementioned Hiroto seems shocked. And Atem can’t blame him.

“Wait. D’you mean you can’t remember us either?” Equally tall as Hiroto the blond of their group rises, looking hurt.

He gulps slowly, shaking his head a fraction.

“No.” It comes out as a mere whisper, laced with an apology.

The room is silent, as much as he wants to run he stays rooted to the spot. Feet like blocks of concrete, looking at the floor which is much more interesting than confrontation.

“ _ How? _ ”

How indeed he wonders bitterly. “I fed the glittering memories,” Atem looks up then eyes filled with determination for he had worked hard and done nothing wrong by that he hoped. “To the Gods. In exchange to be here.”

“All of them?” The woman of their group speaks up in a hushed tone, almost awed.

“No.” He shrugs his shoulders lightly. “Only the best parts, so they’ll come back… eventually.”

_ Eventually _ hung thickly over them all. Meaning it could be hours or years, but they would come.

Atem sees the golden strings weaving before his eyes.

“So then y’ don’t remember Yugi?”

His eyes light up, wandering quickly to an expectant Ishizu. “Are they the ones from the picture? Yugi’s friends?”

She smiles, “yes.” And in that instant, his hope soars. Eyes hungrily sweeping the room for a glance of the boy he’s heard so much about. The boy of intertwined destinies.

Frowning when he can’t find who he is searching for, Atem turns to the blond, introduced as Jounouchi. “Is Yugi not with you?”

Jou looks nervous, a pang of regret visible. And he feels his heart drop. Hopelessness settling in once again.

“Yugi. He didn’t want to come.”

Atem’s legs gave out at those words.

 

_ Were all your tiresome labors worth it? For a reward such as this? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by e


	5. V

_ Perhaps if you had been a better person. _

“I see.”

Anzu cringes almost painfully at the sight of his nails digging into the hard kitchen floor. Atem looks far too thin to be healthy and worst of all,

He’s dead.

Even Jounouchi knows his words have killed whatever thread of hope there was dangling before his face before cruelly leaving him stranded with nothing, with no one. And Atem seems as if he might burst into sobs. The kind that ruptures through the entire body only able to express a third of the deep sadness felt.

Yugi- he isn’t coming. Atem laughs the tiniest bit, hollow. Of course, he wouldn’t because- because-

“Why?” He doesn’t know. Looking desperately at Jou for an explanation. “What have I done?”

What was it? What was his crime, was it one so great that it would sever their bond Ishizu spoke of?

The blond looks reluctant but now he’s desperately gripping to the hem of his shirt, tighter; knuckles white. Begging. Atem is begging to know the reason because of the dreams- they never stop never for a second.

He has nothing to offer but to grovel at the feet of someone he’s sure he must have known for he knows himself in return.

“You…” Jounouchi’s voice is suddenly thick and so he reasons it must be that of a great crime to them. So why had Hiroto so fondly greeted him? “You left us,”

Words cannot be properly digested.

“And he was your whole world. But you just left.”

Atem feels sick, impossibly ill to the point he feels the world has tipped; the way it is viciously spinning. Why had he left? Why had he been in a puzzle crammed with dreams then? When would his memories be returned?

“That’s not fair to say!” Anzu cuts in, looking as though she had been insulted as well. “He didn’t belong in our world so he had to go!”

Well meant words but a terrible impact. Atem is surely going to lose whatever was left in his body. Numbers, two, three, nine, twenty-four. They pound themselves into his skull, clouding the ability to respond.

He lets go of Jou’s shirt to cover his mouth with another cough.

“You don’t look so good Yu- Atem.”

“You’re both making things worse!” Hiroto shouts, his ears ring.

It intensifies. Atem wonders if perhaps he had been forsaken once again. Maybe the puzzle was his golden reprieve and he had been wrong, yet, he knows somewhere this was not how it was supposed to be.

He feels himself, the light mass he already is, being heaved up. Rishid. At least he thinks so with two crossed eyes and cotton filled mind. “He’s still your friend.”

Silence.

It’s so hard to tell with the thousands of eyes that stare back. Scraped palms and fingers that play with his hair; caress his cheeks he knows are wet with tears.

A dreamless death was never an option.

Tired, tired, tired.

He’s so very sick, so very tired of being ill this way. The tears will never cease. Perhaps it was all his fault after all.

How many times had Yugi shed tears in comparison to his own? Far too many he guesses.

And then guesses no more, a sightless world had always been a great fear. Now dreamless sleep was his greatest joy.

Perhaps the shadows were the protection.

What a wondrous occasion wasn’t it.

* * *

 

 

“You do realize we need him to be healthy as possible to make the flight.” Ishizu is looking pointedly at Jou, Ryo shaking his head in disapproval.

“He cried enough to faint.” Hiroto doesn’t blame his friend too much but it was all too much for their established first meeting.

Obviously feeling guilty Jou squirms. “He needed to know why. Didn’t you see how he looked at me?”

Marik, of course, crosses his arms over his chest indignantly. “Don’t push too far then. You seem to forget that being rebirthed is no easy task just as waking up in the morning is for some. At least wait until the timing is better.”

Everyone nods in silent agreement.

It’s what’s best.

* * *

 

Glassy eyes gaze back, not seeing him. Unfocused on what's before them; unfamiliar to the warmth of hands that cover their own. Unaware of their contrasting hands of one so soft to rougher sorts.

Ones of work.

“Please tell me-” Words spill from dry lips; beginning to crack. Nothing is seen, one can assume whatever words are that of a mad fool. “What is my crime. Is there anyone who can swear themselves pure unto the gods?”

He’s not in his right mind.

Or sees what they cannot.

Sees what even he could never see.

_ How great a love. _

“Is there nothing to fear? Nothing to hide?” Fleeting a whisper, ignorant to the sounds of the night. To the screeching owls that bade him return.

_ There is always something to hide. The sooner you learn, the human heart is a chamber of untold secrets devoid of truths. _

How far would his voice carry him?

Atem closes his eyes, returns to sleep.

* * *

 

 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for- y’know.”

Atem doesn’t understand why Jou would apologize if he is deserving of this punishment. Confusion clouds any clear expression there was. Seen.

He clears his throat. “So I got you somethin’ to make up for it. At least a Lil’ bit.”

They sit on Atem’s makeshift cot. Half eaten bowls on the floor and legs crossed. By some miracle, he’d managed to force down what he could and keep it there.

The room is decorated in plants of all kinds, as of no guest room he stays in the plant room. Perfectly fine as there was plenty of sunshine and many scents.

Nothing shines quite as bright as his eyes, the second a gift of apology is placed in his lap.

“I’ll wear them forever.”

He likes the dully colored feathers. They remind him of calmness.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. Plastered to his face is a wide grin. “I’m sorry.” He could only make more mistakes, weeds could choke out glittering gold.

“I’m so sorry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure


	6. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Then, He Closed His Eyes

In a sense, he’d already known no matter the cost life was never something to idle around with. That the wings of her youth would just as soon take flight without him as does the restless nights where he cannot dream of intertwined destinies.

Divided by the common grounds of moral and such importance towards such unusual things could one hardly hazard a guess to the wind that bites his cheeks in such an indignant matter.

A cacophony of screaming voice that lay in wait for him to rise and hear their sounds again amidst broken dreams.

And yes- perhaps it was the dullest of things but he knows that he has since lost whatever moral the better of them carries for a risky finish.

He’d rather this than the insufficient nightmare of becoming settled or much worse- contained under the false pretense of a broken home. To Seto, homes are meaningless and come broken. There is no brightly wrapped familial history that many themselves had received.

Though he knows small as he is, Mokuba would often wish for time to be reversed of a foolish act he could never dream for who would relive their discontent. After how far success has brought them there can never be a moment to look back.

If he were to glance back; to lose sight of these things, he knows it could be devastating for their entire existence and to lose heart, so much investment- was a fool’s choice.

Hands brush lightly against a softened bedsheet before his hand closes around it. Gripping perhaps all too tightly in the thoughts he carries.

No. No one. Not the riches of this world- nor Yugi- nor his unconceded defeat with the blasted Pharaoh himself. Who chooses to become dependent on things that can only wither; would ever make him lose sight.

And his heart tightens, he knows what is to come.

The pain that dances up his spine tell him another bout of misguided doubts have yet to come. He slams his fist into the nearest pillow, things toppling every which-way.

Clattering noises only prove to irritate him further. White-hot rage festering and boiling over as his hands, Seto’s already scarred hands grope the bedside table angrily for anything that could provide relief from this terrible, this useless invaluable storm of emotion.

Fingers tightening around his bedside glass, the cool water that he often swallows bitterly in the dead of night when waking in a cold sweat. This would remind of weakness. Of his sleepless nights.

Another burst of rage.

Seto himself doesn’t quite understand what happened himself. He can only see wet shards near the wall through blurred rage.

He knows-

That no one will dare to come at this time.

So he laughs. Long and hard at how pathetic all these burdensome things are. He laughs at himself for remembering. But most of all becomes hysteric at the thought of ever giving up this grudge he has for having let his happiness be stolen like a thief in the night.

Their bullshit. All of their bullshit about making one's own happiness is idiocy. _Is wrong._

Because in the end, he knows it will not matter whether he has been happy all the days of a life no one cares for or been miserable. In the grand scheme, it can only matter what is achieved in such a time.

Rather than dabble in the pursuit of fleeting satisfaction. No-

Craving a long lasting satisfaction will be the only option that holds a candle to the gateway.

Acceptance was never an option; was never a choice. Because hungry demons never bade to rest so rather, he wouldn’t either.

Hungrier than that of the wolves.

“Your life without a proper resolve carries no meaning” He remembers in his rage still quiet words that puzzle him or perhaps mock him enough to ponder their intention.

His will was enough.

_His will would always be enough._

Eyes shining, cityscape only holds promise as does this chance. This only chance to reclaim a victory so certain it taunts at the door.

“Existing again,” A pause at the flickering lights of one such hovel. “Is your final act.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kind of just a break in between actual updates while I try to find motivation to finish


	7. VI

**"she…**

**longs to**

**run herself aground**

**in a sad secret death.**

**Is it a god inside you, girl?"**

- _Euripides, from Hippolytus_

* * *

"Take me there?"

He can feel the trembling hand within his own, that fits so naturally as if it remembers those days of friendship. When they'd truly cared though even as a counterpart it fit so perfectly, words spoken so smoothly.

Jounouchi can see the droplets that slide cleanly down the sides of his friend's face. Ill, terribly ill he knows it. Atem can never stand without swaying nor speak without a cough or two.

Perhaps dying again in front of his very eyes, a thought that strikes fierce emotion into his heart. He's scared and when Atem looks him in the eyes he knows that he is too.

In the sunroom filled with potted plants, cans, and bright paintings.

Resting on the battered cot that could only be spared.

_You're only a wandering child._

And now, he can only wonder if he will survive this trip so desperately pleaded to take.

To see the boy of his destiny.

He gazes at him with eyes that plead their eagerness and it breaks his heart to know that Atem will do most anything to see him.

"I can't-" Jounouchi is pleading with his own heavyset gaze, hand placed on Atem's frail arm. Thin, frighteningly so. To see those eyes feel with darkness at his own words, he sees the seeping black as they slip through his fingers the clock in an endless ticking.

Atem stares his way, hollow.

"Why not?"

"That's impossible." Jou fights for the words in a desperate panic to right such wrongs that have caused his world to dim so. "You're _sick_."

His eyes nearly roll back in a sickening quake, body jerking. It settles within a few seconds but nevertheless, Jou is terrified, that this could be a seizure or worse. This body cannot contain the soul of a long-dead pharaoh.

Atem is out of breath while attempting to speak.

"What does this imply? Don't you understand? I have to see him!" I need to know everything that ever happened hangs in the silence between them. He's begging again, head to the ground. Nails grinding the rough wooden floorboards.

"Yu- A-Atem- _I can't."_

You'll die.

"Yes, you can. You just won't." He's hardly able to speak now. A mixture of hurt and sickness shining through clear as any written word that they could speak aloud.

"I won't 'cause-" He swallows thickly. "I don' trust ya not to hurt Yug' ". He expects Atem to crumple lifelessly to the floor as he does when overwhelmed, to claw at himself, screaming until Rishid comes to calm him.

But rather- a ringing sound resounds through the room and Jou is confused as to why it's so loud until- a red hot fire explodes on his left cheek. And he knows, it could have been worse had Atem the strength.

"If you hate me so much…..why are you still here?"

And he waits, ragged breathing as he hopes- no- _prays_ that Jounouchi will hit him back. Harder.

Nothing.

The door slams shut.

Jou fiddles with the leaves, alone. A mix of misty eyes and fear overwhelmed with looming shadows only death could provide.

Words elude him.

* * *

 

Feet charging as a thin hand reaches down mid-pace to jerk down the shorts he wears. They very clearly ride up his far too thin legs and he laughs breathlessly.

He's left.

Without paying the debt he owes, without what he truly deserves and oh- Gods he's left the earrings they'd blessed him with. Told him to keep.

Atem boxes the air briefly hoping it'll catch. Maybe even smash his entire fist until he can feel nothing but physical pain to drown out the doubts. He'd hurt Yugi and no matter the circumstances as far as he was concerned this boy was another one of the gods.

He catches nothing, not even a breath. Nearly hitting the ground.

A palm rests lightly where is aches the most.

He grins. He grimaces. He forces himself to pretend everything happens for a reason.

Though he knows it hasn't.

He will never regain a single thought he's had in the past, never the boy who holds him in the palms of his hands, never anyone who knew him the most.

Perhaps, he thinks tracing petals into the cup of his palm unable to breathe, this was why he'd come back. Maybe it was because he was terrible that all these things happened and yet if he was so terrible,

Why did the gods grant him a favor?

Lifts the woven necklace 'round his neck. How he wants to rip it apart and watch each bead scatter across the sand until they can never be found again. Apologizing would never grant anything. It would never give him what he wanted.

He drops it back onto his chest. Atem knows self-control is important if he wants to live. But-

"To someday abandon those who fall." A human nature, he whispers. Sun kissing his face in her dull attempt to comfort but only providing the inevitable that he will turn the other way yet, there is a golden thread that will lead another direction.

Half-lidded eyes compared to wide blue.

Such a tiny outstretched hand although so unwelcome.

Atem only stares back, mouth dry. Licking his lips does nothing to change their cracked surface.

"It is you." A once over. "C'mon, my brother wants to see you."

Water makes him so very thirsty, Atem decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy that I apologize for it being a little short.


	8. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 5/18/17

For instance, the journey was long and yet, he remembers none of it. Only a swirling sickness in his throat, and briefly he regrets running. And yet, the urge to hack up a lung is only outweighed by his anger.

His naivety, thinking he would be able to live again in a world where he is already long dead. Perhaps that was why now, he turns his head already spinning. Only a blur of black. Holds his temple with a haggard breath as the constant motion protests to the entire body.

Not even the silver glistening he sees from the corner of his nearly closed eyes can bring comfort. They’re swollen he knows.

Pathetic. Atem hates it; hates this. If only there’d been a time where the flowers do grow on such joyous occasions if only there’d been a spring for himself. What a selfish thought.

“Who are you?” He rasps between dry lips and tongue, hands unable to bring the bottle to his mouth. The bottle is lifted for him, dribbling down his chin as he chokes to comply to the steady flow of coolness to his tongue. It was fresh. Disgusting.

Vision clears a bit. Alarmed it’s a child, not a man. Atem chokes, a painfully wheeze following his final attempt to regain breath.

“Are you serious?” Younger speaks.

“ _ Dead  _ serious.”  Atem attempts not to grimace at his own joke, a hard feat when one’s lungs are on fire.

“Mokuba.” A flat answer. “Where’d you get the stupid outfit?”

Eyes narrow. “Where’d you get your bad personality?”

Mokuba laughs, though more of a taunt from where he sits. Opposite to Atem, arms crossed.

“Those water bottles.” Mokuba points to a small fridge nearby where they sit, making said dead pharaoh wonder how expensive they were riding, “take some. I owe you a few anyway and you’ll need some if you’re going to even make it across the lawn in your shape.”

He could only imagine the lawn.

“You own a house in Egypt?”

Mokuba nods.

“I don’t take you as the residential type.”

Mokuba wrinkles his nose. “It was only temporary. It’ll probably be sold now that you’re actually here.”

It’s Atem’s turn to be confused. “Why so? Why me?” Nothing made sense in this world where they knew him but he knew them not.

“I’m not allowed to tell.” He can tell by such a tone, as he lets out another wheezing cough, that Mokuba’s lips are sealed on the matter and no such pressing would further discussion of the issue.

“At least tell-” He stops to take a gulp of water, parched. “me where we’re going. I don’t know after all, no matter how much you may know me.”

“Why?” Mokuba is clearly curious, leaning in for a better listen though the limo is already quiet. Hands rest at the edge of lanky knees, pale from clear lack of exposure to the sunlight.

“I traded my memories.” Another swig, wipes the water running down his chin. “So I can be here.”

Mokuba’s mouth turns into a small ‘o’.

“Say, do you know….do you know Yugi?” Atem’s voice shakes.

“Aren’t you Yugi too?”

Atem shakes his head sadly. Another name, another time, another destiny. Perhaps it was that for the best but it aches nearly as much as his battered lungs and hurting stomach.

“Well...yeah I know Yugi. But if you’re not the Other Yugi then what’s your real name?”

_ Other me. _

“Atem. It’s Atem.”

Mokuba screws up his nose attempting to speak it exactly how Atem had pronounced it to him. Repeated several more times until he would nod his head in approval, a cracked smile. How strange his name was on a foreigner’s lips.

“Why’d you come back if you were in the life after you-know-what?” Bursting with questions he is, isn’t he?

“I wasn’t there.”

“What?! Where then?”

He points to the puzzle hanging ‘round his neck. Mokuba pales. Not another exchange between them for the rest of the ride.

* * *

 

Entirely too distasteful so he decides even in a state of immobility. Wracking coughs that heave his chest, Mokuba’s arm around his waist. Shorts covered in sand and dust, he supposes this was how it was meant to be from the start. 

Existing in a time frame that was never his after all.

Atem knows for a fact his appearance is more than haggard, unable to wipe the drool from the corners of his mouth, unable to raise a hand well enough to possibly even adjust the way his sweatshirt dips to one shoulder. Sagging hem.

And though what he knows are bodyguards support him from either side, to ensure both he and Mokuba would not lose balance, toppling over, it seems useless to drag himself around this way.

“So….this is your humble abode I suppose?”

Atem speaks with a rasp, tinge of an accent.

“It is!”

How out of place such a large home was in the middle of a desert.

Inside was cool, as expected a highly valuable house would be. Offering protection from the scorching heat that made things so unbearable.

“It’s….” Glances around at the immense decor, pristine white carpeting that seemed as if it’d never been soiled a day in its life. “Nice.”

Slumps on the foyer sofa where laid.

“Good. ‘cause we won’t be here long,” Mokuba states, adjusting his suit, another peculiarity. Atem can’t help but smooth down a piece of unruly hair. Of course receiving a stare foremost to the dismissing shrug.

Whips out what Atem assumes to be an official paper of some sort.

“What do you mean?” A haze of confusion.

“Now that I found you, we’re ditching Egypt, duh.”

If only he could read the language on that paper.

“From… going away..?”

A nod.

“Where..?”

“You’ll see.”

He places a finger to his lips, a looming shadow smiles. Strangely, he doesn’t regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure but it was heading somewhere when I started???


	9. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I fixed the previous chapter so you might have to reread it lest you be very confused as to whats happening

“No…. I’d prefer these…”

 Hands placed protectively over the hem to prevent the younger from pulling his sweatshirt off. Irritation prevalent by Mokuba’s eyes. It was glaringly so.

 “You look like shit. Also, I can’t let you into the jet so dirty anyway.”

 Atem juts out his chin a fraction, certainly no form of surrender. 

 “I am aware- of my appearance, thank you. However something like that-”

 He hasn’t the strength to prevent Mokuba any longer. Off goes the dusty sweatshirt, to the floor. And as he drops to grope for it out the door it goes in the grasp of a hurried maid.

 A muttered curse of foreign tongue. Glaring up at said younger, resentfully if not out of annoyance.

 “Oh please. You can wear anything you want, as long as it’s clean.”

 With almost no strength but blessed assurance that his body would in fact be covered despite the situation. He stumbles to the grand closet, ridiculous in the sense it was only a temporary home. Seemingly not the first over investment.

 There were too many clothes…..

 “Why are they all my size?”

 “Not really, they’re mine actually, I just happen to be closer to your size.” Though Atem stands perhaps a few inches above. When not doubled over.

 Shaking fingers grasping each piece, was there nothing simple? 

 “Have you nothing closer to- ah.”

 That would do he supposes. Shaking the fabric to make it fall, as it does, from it’s neat hanger. Though he isn’t entirely sure why it would be in Mokuba’s closet, seeing as how he didn’t strike him as the sort- he was grateful nonetheless.

 Mokuba is laughing, the contained sort where it came in a series of snorts and choking noises. 

 The sundress had certainly been a surprise. 

 “That’s what you chose?”

 “You said I could choose anything, didn’t you?”

 “.......alright.”

 Thus amongst the feather earrings he chose to leave on the vanity, he missed his gold earrings dearly so.

 

* * *

 

“I feel sick.”

 His amusement is dwindling to a persistent annoyance now. For this, the eight declaration, was once again accompanied by dry heaving. Though he is closest to the window in a particularly large jet he can wander around however he chooses, it was still like this.

 “Gross! Then go to the restroom, you’ll make me puke too,”

 Pities the lovely vanilla dress soon to not survive from being stained.

 “It’s not… I can’t…” He’s choking, hands wrapped around his throat as if pulling it free. Tugging on his expensive jewelry. This would be harder than intended and so very… irritated. For someone so self conscious he was certainly not above letting his skirt fall to the hem of his boxers.

 “Just- god-” Hand threading through his bangs in an attempt to pull them free, the other rapidly texting.

 “...you’re bitching about me?”

 “No.” Yes.

 Met with a disappointed sigh, followed by a cough, followed by a dry heave-

 “Seriously? How sick are you?”

 The days in which Atem could hardly eat couldn’t be counted on one hand, much less two. But nevertheless he tries. Fingers shaking, images blur. Eventually giving up. Mokuba having no idea what he’d been trying to do winds up more perplexed.

 “Just a little.” Is his final reply.

 Before barreling to the floor of the jet in a cold sweat. Though to say Mokuba was spooked was an understatement. Certainly he’s seen people die but not on the floor of their privately owned jet directly next to them.

 Oh if Atem could just laugh at the look of fear that crossed his face. Or laugh heartily as things had once been. 

 If he could trust his- no- Yugi’s friends and above all,

 If Yugi could trust him well enough to even glance at his face. Repulsed as he is Atem hopes he will. Almost prays. Doomed to crawl at the feet of those once given equally free and beg of them to accept him as he is. Flawed. Lacking the correct grace.

 If only he could laugh.

 All he can allow is tears. To cry as many as those before had shed for him. Bitterly so.

 It is true that he desires to be treated with kindness, however-

 This and that were two separate things. There was no question on his status of deserving. The answer was clear and god he accepts it so, if only- he’d never removed those earrings. Or hoped. 

 “If only I’d never numbered the stars.”

 Let the Gods be ruffled at his insolence. What could possibly have been so desirable about returning to a broken time- 

 Little white lies.

 They slip through thoughts like a smooth ripple. 

 Mokuba slaps him awake.

 Though with no delicacy or possibly even shred of remorse. Bleary eyed, a hardly sustained hand feels the redness of his cheeks. Clearly hit more than once.

 “..a h… t?”

 Barely could make out what this boy was saying. It all rung, perhaps as the bells of the Gods. As their warning. He can hardly hear. Hands desperately groping for anything to hold. Because maybe- maybe he’s going to die. Again.

 Back to that place. Good.

 Cracked lips part, a mix of a hiss and a raspy whisper, “Good.”

 “No,” 

Mokuba pulls a bit to hard on his arm, limp as it is receiving a muffled cry of pain. “I didn’t- brother didn’t wait this long-  _ all this time. _ For you to just  _ die again _ .” 

 Duly notes being dragged or maybe lifted? Everything is colors and inky black. Tiny little wings greet him. Go back, they whisper. Return.

 Prickly little pins and needles up the arms. It has since become hard to even breathe in let alone focus on whoever was with him. Who is- them. Who are they?

 A softer laugh than had ever been kinder.

 And wouldn’t you know the next thing he sees is a bright cloudless sky. 

 Another slap would rouse him. Certainly this time. Mokuba strikes with an empty fist.

 Colors bleed in front of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mokuba literally had no idea what to do so he's just slapping Atem over and over again what an icon


End file.
